Restaurant Review - Indian heritage

The clock displayed 8:15 p.m. on a Friday as we pulled into the Norcross shopping center that houses Raj Ratan. I had played up the glories of the South and Western Indian vegetarian food I’d heard this restaurant serves as enticement to my friend who’d volunteered to drive us from intown. We were both ready to throw down on some curry. While we parked, we watched a large Indian family emerge from the restaurant. I thought they were customers until one of them pulled out a key to lock the door.

“Wait, you’re closed?” I yelped.

“Yes, at 8 o’clock,” replied the man with the key, who turned out to be owner Kirit Patel.

Who shuts down that early?

“This area clears out by then,” Patel said with a shrug. “Please come back tomorrow.”

Then the whole clan, in a “Six Feet Under” meets “The Restaurant” moment, piled into an elongated, burgundy Dodge Ram van and peeled off.

I turned to my glowering friend. Um, oops?

The next night I rounded up another foolhardy pal and walked into Raj Ratan at 7:30 p.m. Several pictures of Krishna and his crew adorned the celery-colored walls. An empty buffet stood in one corner of the room. The place was about half-full, with a mostly Indian clientele. Good sign.

One of the older women I recognized from the van posse the night before waved us to a table. We sat for a few moments. No one approached. Finally I caught the eye of Kirit Patel and asked if we could see a menu.

“No menu,” he responded. “Thali. We change the dishes every day, depending on what’s fresh and available. We don’t serve meat,” he added pointedly, in a way to suggest that if I wanted tandoori chicken, I’d come to the wrong place. At that moment, he reminded me of Dhirajlal Vallabh, the clowning owner of Vatica in Marietta, which follows the same daily-changing format.

“Vegetarian is great,” I assured him.

Several minutes later, another woman walked out from the kitchen (how many were hanging out back there?) and placed two rectangular, compartmentalized trays in front of us. Each contained a smoothly textured version of saag paneer, the ubiquitous spinach dish with cubes of cheese; tawny potatoes with curry leaves and golden raisins; two pieces of hot chapatti flat bread; a mild dhal soup; a snowy hillock of rice; and a syrupy ball of gulab jamin for dessert.

It tasted like a typical Indian home-cooked meal — traditional yet personal. The saag was intriguingly flavored, Punjabi-style, with sweetly pungent spices like clove and nutmeg. But it was the potatoes that showed the prowess of the kitchen: Some bites were creamy, others were crunchy. The curry leaves permeated the potatoes with an herbal nip, while the raisins provided a honeyed — but not cloying — contrast. We readily accepted the second helpings yet a third woman came out to offer.

The food was soulfully satisfying, and certainly worth the paltry $8.99 per person the restaurant charges, but it was also a bit unadventurous. I had hoped an idiosyncratice spot like this would serve more regional, less universal dishes than saag paneer.

As I was paying, however, I eyed the tray of one of the family members who was eating his dinner.

“Hey, are those Gujarati-style green beans?” I inquired, recognizing the black mustard seeds that distinguish the preparation.

“Yes,” answered Patel, who was ringing me up.

“We didn’t get any of those.”

“You need to ask. Sometimes we also have okra that’s very good.”

Aha. It appeared that we had gotten the safe version offered to non-Indians. I’d be more aggressive next time.

When I returned alone on a Tuesday night, the restaurant was empty, and Ila Patel, who does the cooking, came out from the back.

“We don’t serve meat,” she warned, by way of greeting.

“I know. I’ve been here before. Do you have any okra tonight?”

“No okra. You can call ahead and request it. But we have something similar, like baby okra, sauteed in flavored oil. Would you like your bread grilled or fried?”

“Fried, please.” (Hello.)

The thali that appeared before me this trip had more personality and verve. Lithe slices of the okra-like vegetable proved slimy rather than silky. Fried potatoes tingled with cumin. Billowy puffs of poori bread were ideal for scooping up navratan korma, a tomato and cream-based dish full of diced vegetables.

Ila Patel and her daughter march out of the kitchen with seconds. When I said yes to the baby okra, Ila began to mound the stuff on my plate.

“Mo-ooooom,” moaned the daughter, embarrassed by the overly generous portion.

“What? It’s not fried,” countered Ila. “He can eat plenty of this.” Gosh, glad to know someone’s calorie counting for me.

I couldn’t place the odd, though delicious, dessert. It was a fragrant, candied blob of delicate threads the color of green apple Jolly Ranchers.

“Squash halva,” Kirit told me at the register. “One of our neighbors gave us the squash.” It’s a treatment typically made with carrots where the vegetable is cooked slowly with milk, sugar and cardamom until it reduces to pureed velvet.

Well, I did ask for a little exotica in my chow. Of course, learning to navigate the eccentric charms of dining at this restaurant is an adventure unto itself. But if you’re craving an easygoing Indian foray with a few benign glimpses into foreign territory, Raj Ratan is a worthy undertaking. Just get there before 8 p.m.